


Remember Us

by tylerfucklin (orphan_account)



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Implied Underage, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tylerfucklin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Derek’s face if he were to survive this, if he were to come back as the murderer of a child. He didn’t think Derek could bear the knowledge that Stiles - innocent, harmless Stiles - had blood on his hands. He wanted Derek to remember him, remember <i>them</i>, before any of this. </p><p>Before Stiles’ name had been pulled from that fucking bowl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember Us

**Author's Note:**

> was sitting on this idea for a while before I finally got coaxed into writing it~

Stiles was pretty sure if he didn’t die by someone else’s hands, he’d die from exhaustion. His heart was thundering so hard it was threatening to beat out of his chest with every step he took through the forest. He could feel Samantha lagging behind, half dragging her small, 12-year-old body along for the ride as an arrow whizzed past them and thunked into a nearby tree. It meant that Isaac, the one chasing them, would be busy reloading. He tripped to a stop, gasping for breath and shoving Samantha to the side so he could grab the knife from the strap on his thigh.  
  
Whirling around, Stiles took a split second to find his target, remembering Derek’s instructions on technique from so many months ago (God, he missed Derek. He missed everyone, he just wanted to go home) and threw it with all his might. It hit Isaac in the chest, echoing loud with the crack of bone and a gurgle from deep in Isaac’s throat as he fell to the ground. Stiles didn’t think about the fact that he’d just killed a kid his own age, stumbling back to Samantha and dragging her to her feet.  
  
They couldn’t afford to stop, couldn’t afford to breathe, find water, or contemplate food. Jackson wasn’t far behind Isaac, and Stiles had already run out of mines. He’d heard from another player - a girl named Tilly, who had died the day prior - that Jackson had acquired some kind of phial from his district that could paralyze with a single drop. He needed to get Samantha back to the section of forest that held trees that he could shove her up into to keep her safe. He needed at least one of them to survive this hellhole.  
  
Jackson was the only one left. Lydia (god, Stiles didn’t even want to think about it) had died after stepping in a trap set by Boyd and breaking her leg, Jackson snapping her neck the second he realized she’d only slow him down.  
  
Stiles could have lived his entire life without ever having heard that sound.  
  
The first tree in sight that Stiles knew he could get Samantha into, he ran for. His body was tired, taxed beyond the breaking point. He ignored the burning agony in his muscles in favor of hoisting the little girl up until she could climb her way into the tree. Struggling, Stiles tried to follow after her when Jackson abruptly burst in through a cluster of nearby ferns.  
  
“He’s coming, he’s coming!” Samantha cried, her tiny hand reaching out to try and help Stiles out of reach. Stiles’ fingers brushed against hers at the same time a hand snagged his ankle. Pain shot up his leg seconds later and Stiles couldn’t stop the scream from escaping him.  
 _  
“You’re small, but you don’t need to be big to know how to throw your weight around.” Derek said, dodging another punch from Stiles and grabbing him around the middle, knocking them both to the ground. “Strength is nothing against technique.”  
  
Breathless, Stiles went limp against the grass, Derek’s body warm and firm atop his. He sighed, watching Derek push himself up onto his elbows. It didn’t take much to reach out, fingers brushing Derek’s cheek and then cupping the back of his head. “I’d like to see some of your **other** techniques.”  
  
Derek’s brows furrowed before he laughed, rolled his eyes, and ducked his head in to steal a kiss.  
_  
  
Stiles twisted as he fell, using the force of gravity to sling his arm around Jackson’s shoulders and dragging him to the ground. Jackson snarled, wrestling against Stiles as they scrambled for the upper hand. Stiles struggled to get a hold on the other teen’s wrist, twisting it and snapping the bone the same way he’d been taught, adrenaline pumping through his veins.  
  
While Jackson was distracted, Stiles fumbled with the knife he’d seen in the other male’s belt, wrenching it from the holster and stabbing it right between Jackson’s eyes. He could feel the bone cracking, the spurt of brain and blood splashing across his hands and cheeks. Someone was screaming, and Stiles didn’t even realize it was him until he could hear Samantha sobbing his name from up in the tree.  
  
Chest heaving, Stiles sat back and struggled to clear his mind. He couldn’t move his ankle - the blood covering the back of his shoe and pants was sign enough that Jackson had probably cut the tendon. Samantha was scrambling down the tree, the sound of rustling bark and Stiles’ heavy breathing loud in the otherwise quiet forest.  
  
Scrambling over to Stiles, Samantha dropped to her knees, fighting with the backpack still hanging on the arm of Jackson’s dead body. Stiles reached up with the back of his wrist, wiping at the warm, wet blood and grime on his face, watching as the girl from 7 found a small first aide kit in the bag.  
  
Stiles reached out, shakily stopping her from pulling out a strip of gauze to wrap his leg. “No, don’t bother. You’re the one who needs to live,” he gasped out, swallowing dryly and trying to force her to put the gauze back.  
 _  
“Derek, you have to live,” Stiles pleaded, eyes burning as he watched Derek’s skin grow paler and paler. Allison was struggling to wrap his chest, blood spreading across the bandaging before she’d even finished. Stiles couldn’t bear to look at the single bullet sitting in the tin beside Derek’s head, biting back a sob and the desire to hit Derek in his big, stupid head.  
  
“Derek, please. You still need to teach me about the plants, you have to help me survive the games.”  
  
“Stiles, I need you to back up.” Allison said quietly, just as shaken as he was. “We got the bullet out, it didn’t hit his heart, but if you keep shaking him…” When she trailed off, Stiles looked down to stare at where his hand was gripping Derek’s arm - where he’d been shaking him like that would bring Derek back from death’s door.  
  
“I don’t want him to die, Allison.”  
  
“I know. Just like I know he’d say the same about you,” Allison pointed out, “So you’re going to have to let me do my job.”  
  
Stiles pulled away, Scott’s arm encircling his back and guiding him out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. He hesitated, seeing the satchel full of plants sitting there.  
  
Stupid. Fucking. Plants.  
  
Derek had gotten himself shot for getting plants from the forest.  
  
Stiles had never hated the capitol more in his entire life than in that one moment.  
_  
  
“Me?” Samantha cried weakly, fingers trembling as she held the bandaging. “N-no! You have a family at home! You have someone who loves you!” The tears in her eyes were big and fat as they slipped down her reddened cheeks. Stiles felt a coil of guilt climb up in his chest, but stamped it down as Samantha continued to plead.  
  
“You deserve to go home more than I do! I have no one… I didn’t want to survive this- I won’t ever forget. I’ll go home, trapped and alone and nobody will care. You have people who care!” She sobbed, as if it actually broke her heart that she would live and Stiles would die. Stiles shook his head, shifting so he could start searching through Jackson’s pockets for the phial.  
  
“You have so much more for you than I do.” Stiles said quietly, finding the small tube and handing it to her. “I won’t feel anything, not if you use this, first.”  
  
“Stiles, I don’t want you to die!”  
  
“A lot of people don’t want a lot of things!” Stiles snapped, chest tight. “That doesn’t mean anything anymore. You have to do it, Sam, you have to live.”  
  
Stiles couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Derek’s face if he were to survive this, if he were to come back as the murderer of a child. He didn’t think Derek could bear the knowledge that Stiles - innocent, harmless Stiles - had blood on his hands. He wanted Derek to remember him, remember them, before any of this.  
  
Before Stiles’ name had been pulled from that fucking bowl.  
  
 _  
“What is this? I can’t read my own handwriting…. Buttinski? Bolinski?”  
  
Stiles felt like he’d been punched in the gut, knees buckling just the tiniest bit as he watched one of the men from the capitol walk up to Finstock and mutter softly in his ear. He watched Finstock’s eyes go wide and a loud laugh escape him.  
  
“Stilinski! Come on up here, buddy!” Finstock gestured wildly to the boy’s section, but Stiles couldn’t move. He felt dead inside, numb from everything as Scott’s hand gripped to his own. He stared at his best friend, seeing the panic and fear in Scott’s eyes. Scott, who had just proposed to Allison, who looked ready to take his place.  
  
“It’s okay,” Stiles whispered, watching Scott’s shoulders sag, “I understand.”  
  
He brushed by, stepping out into the aisle and glancing behind himself to see Derek in the crowd, one arm being held tightly by his father, keeping Derek from rushing forward and into the square. Stiles’ feet wouldn’t move, unable to even breathe at the utterly wrecked look on Derek’s face.  
  
It wasn’t hard to see the word’s, ‘No, please no,’ on Derek’s mouth, even though Stiles couldn’t hear them over the buzzing in his own head. Derek couldn’t volunteer, he’d lost that chance the year prior.  
  
Stiles turned and headed for the stage._  
  
“Look!” Samantha cried, pointing up at the small item floating down - an offering.  
  
“There’s not… we’re not even fighting. Neither of our districts can afford to send us anything…” Stiles muttered in confusion, watching Samantha jump up to grab the offering.  
  
Stiles opened it when she handed it to him, staring blankly at the item inside. He hesitated, and then reached for the single, painfully familiar bullet that it held. _  
  
“Look on the bright side,” Stiles said perkily, digging his thumbs into Derek’s neck and rubbing out the sore and tense muscles there, “You’re not a candidate for the games anymore. I’m pretty sure you’re more likely to survive in the mines than in a life or death battle, anyway.”  
  
Derek groaned, bringing the old washrag to his face to wipe away hours of dirt and ashes. He shook his head, pressing back into Stiles’ hands and sighing. “You’ve still got another year.”  
  
“You’ll just have to teach me what you know.”  
  
Derek laughed weakly, glancing over his shoulder and offering Stiles a crooked smirk. “Everything?”  
  
  Bending forward, Stiles pressed a kiss to the hinge of Derek’s jaw and nodded. His arms fell away as Derek turned on the bed, pushing Stiles back against it and climbing between his legs. “Everything, then. Even the plants.”  
  
“The plants?” Stiles groaned, though it turned into a soft laugh as Derek’s stubble tickled his throat. Derek hummed, kissing a line up to his mouth.  
  
“Plants are important. I‘ll bring some by tomorrow from the forest.” Derek said softly into Stiles’ mouth, kissing him so achingly slow that Stiles thought he’d die. _  
  
Stiles thumbed the bullet, tracing over the contours of the metal and remembering the day it had been stained with Derek’s blood.  Samantha was silent, watching him with wide, curious eyes.  
 _  
Stiles watched his father and Scott leave, the door shutting behind them. He sighed, sitting back on the rickety old chair provided and burying his face into his hands. He wasn’t going to survive this, there was no way.  
  
The door burst open again as Derek practically shoved his way into the room and slammed it behind him. Stiles had hardly a second to stand before he was being dragged into a desperate kiss. Stiles palmed at Derek’s neck, trying frantically to keep up as he was guided back against the nearest wall and caged there.  
  
“No,” Derek gasped into his mouth, peppering Stiles’ lips with kiss after kiss. “Please, no. One more year, you only had one more goddamned year.” Derek’s lips became wet with tears, the salty bitterness adding a deep ache to the pain in Stiles’ heart. He dug his fingers into Derek’s hair, trying to use his mouth to silence Derek’s pleas, because all of the begging in the world would not turn back time._  
  
Stiles blinked, tears falling from his eyes and splashing onto the bullet in his grasp.  
  
“Stiles?”  
  
Stiles looked up at Samantha, sniffling softly and shaking his head.  
  
 _“Take this. Remember us,” Derek pleaded, shoving the bullet (the same one that had become his lucky charm after it had almost taken his life) into Stiles’ hand and trying to close his fingers over it.  
  
Stiles shook his head, reaching up to wipe at his cheeks and sucking in an uneven breath as he shifted their hands and placed it back into Derek’s palm. “If I don’t come back, use it to remember **US**.” Us, them, Derek and Stiles, remember what we had.  
  
“Stiles-”  
  
“Derek, please. I won’t need any tokens where I’m going.”  
  
It was the first and only time that Stiles had ever seen Derek cry.  
  
_  
Us.  
  
Remember **_us.  
_**  
Stiles opened his eyes, staring down at all of the nicks and worn edges that the bullet had acquired from months of being carried around in Derek’s pocket. There was still a scorch mark on it from the day that Stiles had seen it and thrown it into the fire. Derek had scrambled to get it out, explaining to Stiles that it had been something he used to remind himself of Stiles and the rest of their ‘family’, how they had struggled to save Derek’s life.  
  
Pressing the bullet against his lips, Stiles stared up at the sky, up to where he knew Derek would be watching somewhere in District 12, on the edge of his seat and waiting for Stiles’ answer. Stiles nodded, once, and then a second time to give himself that last bit of conviction.  
  
“Okay.”


End file.
